


Mine

by Severina



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: Community: hardtime100
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-09 17:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting Beecher back was hard work.  Keeping him was even harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 401.  
> Prompt 10: Seven Deadly Sins (LJ's Hardtime100 Community)

Gettin' Beecher back -- proving to him that I love him, that I am sincerely sorry for hurting him -- that was hard work.

Keepin' him might be even harder.

'Cause those two weeks in lockdown, they couldn't have come at a better time. The days were long, but I didn't care because all the games between us were finally over. And the nights felt even longer than the days, the hacks bored out of their asses and ignoring us, and the rest of these fucking dipshits locked away just like we were. I took advantage of every goddamned minute we were given, believe me. Gave me plenty of time to show Beecher how much I want him without anybody else gettin' in his face and fillin' his head with bullshit.

Now we been out a little more than half a day and I'm already needin' eyes in the back of my head.

After lunch, Beecher wants to play cards. That's one of the things he bitched about when we were stuck in lockdown -- he was sick of solitaire and sick of gin rummy and sick of every other two-player game known to fucking mankind. It probably didn't help that I always come out the victor in these little games. I know it's in my best interest to let him win a game or two, but it just ain't in me to fold. He oughta know that by now.

Beecher manages to wrangle Hill and Rebadow into a game, and I drag up a chair to make the fourth. Five card draw, jacks wild. I cruise through a couple of rounds, slouched in the chair with my legs sprawled under the table, and watch while Beecher hunches his shoulders over his cards and catches up on gossip with the crip and the old man. On the third hand he taps his pinky on the table before askin' for two, so he ain't holding shit. If I was payin' attention to the rest of them, it'd be just too easy to fleece them all.

Not that we're playin' for anything worthwhile, and my pile of matchsticks is dwindling pretty fast as it is. I'm too busy moving my chair a little closer to Beecher's, makin' sure our arms brush against each other whenever I reach out to draw in my cards, feelin' the way the hairs on his rise up whenever we come in contact. I'm leaning back, stretching, dropping my arm deliberately over the back of Beecher's chair and letting my fingers caress the back of his neck, feelin' him quiver under that touch until I drag my hand slowly away. I'm lookin' at Beecher smirking at something Hill says, and then shifting in my chair to glare at one of the homeboys who's payin' just a little too much attention to Beecher's pretty mouth.

I'm reminding Beecher that he's mine. And ensuring that everybody else gets the message, too.


End file.
